


work in progress

by acetheticallyy (judesstfrancis)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Fears, Canon Asexual Character, Insecurity, M/M, Sex-Repulsed Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 13:46:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30056382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judesstfrancis/pseuds/acetheticallyy
Summary: No matter how many partners he’s had in the past that had been nothing but respectful and considerate, it doesn’t make this part any easier. The fear that he’ll miss his chance before he even gets to take it, the nagging suspicion that people don’t really understand what he means when he brings it up the first time—it’s all hard to shake off. He has to be sure.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 47
Kudos: 175





	work in progress

**Author's Note:**

> yeah so this was quite literally just titled "ace projection therapy" on my laptop. had a breakdown, wrote a fic about it, bon appetit, you know the drill.
> 
>  **minor content warning:** this fic contains a kind of frank discussion of a sex-repulsed asexual person's insecurity regarding romantic relationships due to aforementioned sex-repulsion, as written by a sex-repulsed asexual author. if u think that might hit a little too hard for you, please don't feel bad about not reading! there's nothing overly heavy and none of the insecurity comes from internalized acephobia or self-hatred of any kind, but there is still a possibility that it may touch a few nerves. take care of yourselves <3

Jon’s been in something of a state all morning. It has absolutely nothing to do with the way that Martin’s soft jumper falls over his shoulders—much too wide in the neck, sleeves falling well past his hands—and absolutely everything to do with the fact that Jon has been in love with Martin for no less than four months, give or take, and Martin hadn’t even _blinked_ when he pulled the jumper over his head and handed it off just because Jon had, offhand, said he thought the library was a bit cold today.

It might also have a little bit to do with the way Martin’s undershirt had come untucked just slightly as he rose his arms over his head, exposing the slightest bit of his belly and giving Jon a rather tantalizing view of the myriad of freckles and stretch marks dotted across his skin.

Really it just has to do with _Martin_. It always does.

Tim lets him get away with it for about two hours before he corners him about it on their afternoon walk.

“So,” he drags out. Jon is immediately set on edge.

He’s known Tim for long enough, at this point. They’ve been friends for years, lived together for almost as long, and Jon has heard that tone fall from Tim’s lips far too often to be able to pretend that anything even remotely as casual as it implies is going to be said.

 _So_ , he says, like the next words out of his mouth are going to be a light comment on the weather or asking Jon where he wants to stop for lunch later. _So_ , Jon hears, knowing the next words out of his mouth are going to be a pointed observation that cuts right to the heart of Jon’s behavior.

Tim’s known Jon for long enough, too. He’s seen Jon in all sorts of states: angry and excited and, embarrassingly, even _sappy_ , has lived with his quirks far too long to be able to pretend that the state Jon is in currently is anything less than hopelessly besotted. Hopelessly being the keyword.

Jon tries (and fails) to stave him off. “Look, Tim, I don’t know what cunning deduction you’ve made about me and my life today, but could it wait? Please?”

Tim flashes him a smile, wide and bright and teasing. “No can do,” he says cheerily. “I could lead you into it, though, if you’d prefer.”

If they weren’t walking on such a busy street, Jon thinks he would have shoved him right off the sidewalk. “Fine,” he sighs. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you.” Tim has the audacity to look genuinely pleased. “So,” he says again, once more drawing out the syllable. “In case you’ve forgotten, I _am_ your best friend and I _do_ spend more time with you than basically anyone else.”

Jon scoffs, though not unkindly. “Tim, if you’ve been feeling neglected all you have to do is tell me so.”

“Funny!” And Tim does laugh, a little. Despite himself, Jon feels inordinately pleased at having successfully landed a joke. It doesn’t happen often. “But no,” Tim continues. “You’re a very attentive best friend and I know you love me very much. Also we live together, I can and do just follow you around the flat whenever I’m feeling neglected.”

“Fair enough,” Jon concedes. He tries not to let himself feel too warm at the way Tim acknowledges their friendship so freely, at how easily he accepts that Jon _does_ love him even when he is generally sarcastic and quiet and prone to stoicism. _Especially_ not when he knows what Tim is about to say next. “Go ahead then,” he sighs. “Enough leading me into it, tell me what it is.”

Tim claps him on the shoulder, wincing when the movement catches Jon off guard and almost sends him stumbling into a lamppost. “Sorry,” he says, correcting course to grab gently at Jon’s bicep and keep him steady. “Meant to telegraph that better, my bad.”

Jon waves him off. It’s not a gesture that usually bothers him, and he usually _can_ see it coming except for when half of London is walking down the street at the same time. His attention had been elsewhere, as it were, trying not to trip over the sidewalk or accidentally send an elbow into a stranger’s ribcage. He’d been startled, sure, but not awfully so, and while Jon appreciates Tim’s care in this regard it is, at the moment, unnecessary.

“Right,” Tim continues, taking the wave-off for what it is without missing a beat in the conversation. Jon likes that about him, how he doesn’t dwell on things that Jon doesn’t want to dwell on. “ _Anyway_. You have feelings for someone.”

 _There it is_. Jon can’t say he didn’t see this coming, mostly because Tim was there when Martin had given Jon his sweater and he’d known as soon as Tim had said the word “so” that Jon was about to catch hell for it. There were only so many directions this conversation could have gone, really.

It doesn’t mean he can’t still try and deny it.

“I have a lot of feelings for a lot of people,” Jon admits. “Right now I’m actually feeling contempt. Guess who for.”

“You don’t mean that.” He doesn’t. “But if you’re going to make me continue dragging it out of you, I meant romantic feelings. I can guess who for, but I think you and I both know already. And I _think_ it would be nice for you if you said it yourself.”

Jon lets it sit for a few minutes. Tim, for the most part, seems content to walk in silence down to the end of the street before turning around and heading back towards the library.

“Fine,” Jon sighs. “It’s Martin.” He keeps his gaze turned resolutely forward, for all the good that does him. Trying to avoid one of Tim’s excitable, proud-of-himself grins is like trying to avoid water in the ocean. Jon can practically _feel_ it.

“Oh, I _knew_ it!” Tim crows. And try as he might, Jon can’t _quite_ stifle the reflexive excitement of sharing a crush with a friend. Tim was right—it _was_ kind of nice to say it himself. He hadn’t really had the chance to say it out loud before.

Still, Tim’s exclamation earns them a few looks from other people walking down the street and Jon digs an elbow into his side to get him to be quiet. “Tim, _please_ ,” he says, aiming for chastising. It doesn’t quite work, with the way he’s still biting down on the grin threatening to work its way onto his lips.

“No, no,” Tim continues, quieter this time but still excited, “this is perfect. I love Martin!” He bumps his shoulder into Jon’s. “ _You_ love Martin.”

Jon almost chokes. “ _Tim_.” He may be right, but it’s not like he has to _say_ it.

“Right, right, sorry,” Tim apologizes, sounding not very sorry at all. “So when are you going to ask him on a date?”

At that, Jon laughs outright. “Likely never.”

Taken aback, Tim forgets to regulate his volume. “ _What?_ ”

Jon smiles weakly at passerby as he grabs Tim by the wrist and steers him towards a break between buildings. “I don’t quite think the entire street needs to know my personal business Tim, if you could keep it down.”

Tim ignores the admonishment. “ _What do you mean_ ‘likely never’?”

“Meant what I said, Tim,” Jon responds, moving to merge with the flow of foot traffic so they can continue their walk back to the library. He doesn’t get very far when Tim, wrist still in Jon’s hand, resolutely stays put. He sighs. “What?”

“Why not?” Tim asks. “You _know_ he’ll say yes.”

This time, when Jon laughs, the sound is notably acidic. “I don’t, actually. That’s the problem.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

Something starts to settle in the pit of Jon’s stomach, replacing the short-lived giddiness from earlier. The full truth is too much for him at the moment, so he settles for the abridged version. “You don’t even know if he likes me.”

Tim scoffs. “I can make a damn good educated guess. Jon, you’re _wearing his sweater._ ”

Jon lets go of Tim’s wrist, slumping against the wall. He closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath, tries not to clench his jaw. He hears Tim shuffle as he comes up next to him, arm gently brushing against his own as he leans back as well.

When Tim speaks next, his voice is soft. “Come on, what’s the real problem?”

Jon takes another deep breath, holding it for a minute before releasing on a slow exhale. “Say he does like me,” he relents. “Great. That doesn’t mean he’ll say yes.”

Tim, bless him, sounds genuinely confused. “Why wouldn’t he?” Like it’s that easy, for him. Like it ever has been.

He opens his eyes, finally, levelling Tim with a look. Tim frowns for a moment before Jon starts to see the understanding light up his eyes. Soon after he lights up with understanding, he crumples. Jon turns away again. It’s nice, how much Tim cares for him, but he can’t handle the sadness he knows he’ll see on his friend’s face. Sadness for _him_. He’s already been throwing himself his own little pity party for months, he can’t take it if someone else decides to join in.

“Jon,” Tim says gently, “he _knows_ you’re asexual already.”

“And that doesn’t mean anything.” Jon laughs wetly, staring distantly at the end of the alley they’ve found themselves in. He tries to focus on the brick pattern of the wall to keep the burning in his eyes from getting worse. _Christ_ , what a turn the past few minutes have taken. “Sure, he knows,” he continues. “That doesn’t mean he has to like it.”

“Jon—”

And Tim just sounds so _sad_. Jon cracks. “No, Tim!” he cuts him off. “No, okay. I know everything you’re going to say already and trust me, I appreciate it. But look, he’d be perfectly within his rights to reject me based on that alone. If part of what he’s looking for in a relationship is a sexual aspect, he’s allowed. But _I can’t give him that_. And that’s not some sort of failure on me, it just _is_. So that terrifies me. Because I could be doing everything right. He could like me _so_ much, and I still wouldn’t be the right person. And I couldn’t even argue! It wouldn’t even be my fault—it wouldn’t even be _his_ fault. It’s not unfair of him to want that and reject me because of it and I can’t, I _can’t_ handle that. I like him too much.”

Jon scrubs his palms roughly against the wetness in his eyes, trying to pull himself together. Trying to act like every worry that’s been twisting itself tighter and tighter together since the day he realized he’d starting looking at Martin as more than a friend didn’t just come spilling out of his mouth with only a half second’s input from his brain.

Tim stays quiet, for a moment. There’s a rustle of movement and suddenly an arm is thrown around Jon’s shoulders. Still staring determinedly at the wall, he leans into it. Another shift has Tim’s head tilting toward the side, leaning on top of Jon’s own. “I don’t know what to say to make it better,” Tim admits.

“Nothing you haven’t told me a thousand times already,” Jon replies sadly. “I already know there’s nothing wrong with me. I don’t _care_. This is who I am, and I’m fine with that—I _like_ it. But I can’t pretend like that means that everyone would just be fine not having sex with their partner. It _is_ a dealbreaker for some people, and that doesn’t mean they’re horrible for not giving me a chance. We want different things. It happens.” He shrugs. “I wouldn’t think less of Martin for feeling that way. I couldn’t be mad at him. It just hurts, that’s all.”

“You’re acting like he’s already said no.”

“It’s easier that way. I’m afraid it would hurt more if I gave him a chance to say it for himself.”

Tim’s arm tightens around his shoulders then and Jon feels his breath catch in his chest as he tries to stave off the emotion building in his throat.

“It’s not so bad,” he says, trying to force a cheerful tone. “I’m quite happy just loving him. It’s nice, having people to love. Even if they don’t know.”

Jon thinks he hears Tim make something of a wounded noise at the statement, but declines to comment. If he didn’t have the energy to handle Tim’s sadness for him _before_ he’d split himself open and exposed all his raw nerve endings, he certainly doesn’t now.

Just when Jon starts to get worried about being back at the library on time, Tim squeezes his shoulders one last time and steers them back onto the sidewalk. He lets them make the rest of the walk back in silence. Every so often, Tim’s arm will brush against his own, too deliberate to be casual, just reminding Jon that he’s there. Each reminder leaves him feeling a little more normal, a little less sorry for himself. By the time they arrive back at work, he could almost say he feels light.

“I love you too, you know,” Tim says when they come to a stop at the library doors. “Not the same way you love him, but…I do. And you won’t lose that—me. So if you ever do decide to ask him, and he says no…if you need somewhere to put all that love you have for him, I’ll take it. I’ll take all the love you would have given him, and I’ll give it right back. We’ll spend a weekend moaning about modern day dating and swearing off it entirely and we’ll eat breakfast for three square meals a day. And we’ll come back to work on Monday feeling a little bit better than before and it’ll still hurt but you’ll get through it. You’ll always have people to love, Jon. You’ll always have me, even if it’s not the same. You won’t have to go through it alone.”

He disappears through the doors before Jon can get a chance to respond. Jon’s not really sure what he would have said to that anyway. Regardless, the sentiment means more to him than he thinks Tim is even aware of. He doesn’t feel quite as lost, after that. The worry is still there, of course, it never quite goes away with this sort of thing, but it does feel the slightest bit more manageable than it had earlier.

Jon’s still not sure if he’ll say anything. But the idea of it is at least easier.

*

Jon gives himself a couple weeks to build himself back up before he starts to consider it. He gets like that, sometimes—maudlin and already preparing for the end of something he never had before he even gets the chance to ask for it—and it takes a while for him to come back from it.

Once he _does_ start to consider it…well, Martin kind of beats him to it.

Because Jon’s version of considering it—of making moves, as Tim would put it—is to ask Martin how he takes his tea and have a cup waiting for him in the breakroom when he comes in the next morning. And then if he had it his way, it probably would have stayed like that for the next month or two, just Jon preparing tea for Martin’s arrival to work until eventually he works himself up to something like deliberately knocking elbows with Martin while they’re shelving the returns. Which would continue for another month or two until he works himself up to something _else_ , like buying Martin a new set of pens because he’d noticed the ink in his favorite had just run out or whatever.

It would have amounted to a years long process, is the point. Martin makes much quicker work of it.

He catches Jon just as he’s about to leave for lunch, the very same day Jon hands him that first cup of tea. “Jon, do you have a minute?”

Jon stops with his arms halfway inside his jacket sleeves. Martin seems… _nervous_ , for some reason, and Jon can’t help but think it has something to do with the unexpected gesture of that morning. He suddenly worries that he’d gotten it all wrong, that he picked the wrong brew or steeped it for too long or simply just shouldn’t have brought it in the first place. Maybe Martin didn’t even really _like_ tea, but Jon had brought him some, and it was _bad_ and now Jon had to think of something else to bring him every morning for a month or two until he could work himself up to deliberately knocking elbows while shelving the returns.

He finishes shrugging his coat over his shoulders and clears his throat. “Yes?” It comes out slightly higher than he wants it to, and he winces. He clears his throat again. “Yes. Is something wrong?”

“No!” Martin flinches at the volume of his own voice. At least if Jon is making a fool of himself today, he’s not in it alone. “No, sorry, just…um. I wanted to ask you something?”

If Jon was gentler with himself, he might have noticed the flush rising over Martin’s cheeks for what it was. Might have seen the way the skin around his ears got darker as he started fidgeting with the cuffs of his sweater, and then maybe what he asks next would have felt like less of a shock.

“I wanted to ask,” Martin repeats. “If um. If maybe you’d want to get lunch with me today? As-as a date.”

Jon blinks. It takes a minute for the weight of it all to sink in. For a moment, he’s not so sure he’s even heard correctly. Martin doesn’t give him long enough to decide if he has.

“I mean, if—if you’d rather not, that’s okay. I mean I know you and Tim usually grab lunch together, so if you already had plans, that’s—and if, you know, if it’s the date thing that’s…I mean, if that’s weird, I get it, I just thought—”

“I’m asexual,” Jon blurts. And immediately regrets it. _He_ knows _already, you absolute idiot_.

It’s enough to stop Martin from nervously rambling, though. He cocks his head to the side, confused. “I know? You, um. You told me once.” And he looks tentatively proud of himself despite the confusion, just like he had when Jon had first told him. Like it was an honor to be told.

“I’m asexual,” Jon repeats, this time deliberately. “And you want to go on a date with me.”

“Yes?”

Jon doesn’t want to let himself get too excited. There’s a warmth building in his chest, quite without his permission, because Martin _knows_ and he still likes him and he wants to go on a date. _Martin_ had asked _him_ , knowing, and only sounded confused when Jon pushed back. It’s easy to get his hopes up, to let himself start to feel giddy with the excitement of new love.

But a lifetime of insecurity is hard to shake. No matter how many partners he’s had in the past that had been nothing but respectful and considerate, it doesn’t make this part any easier. The fear that he’ll miss his chance before he even gets to take it, the nagging suspicion that people don’t _really_ understand what he means when he brings it up the first time—it’s all hard to shake off. He has to be _sure_.

So he keeps pushing. “There’s…different ways to be asexual,” he starts.

Martin lights up, cutting him off before he has the chance to continue. “Oh!” he says. “Yes, I—well, I looked it up. A bit. I just, um…well I wanted to know more, but asking _you_ seemed too invasive, and…” He lets himself trail off for a moment, shoulders bunching up around his ears. The skin around the area darkens further. “I’ve kind of liked you for a really long time? Like, an embarrassingly long time. So I just wanted to make sure that I wouldn’t do or say anything stupid because, you know.” Martin laughs, a touch nervously, and scrubs a hand across the back of his neck. “And actually I just realized you were probably leading into something with that, so…go on. Sorry.”

And Jon _had_ been, but for the life of him he can’t circle himself back around to it at the moment. “You…looked it up,” he says. “For me. So you wouldn’t upset me. Because you like me.” Martin nods. “And you didn’t find anything that put you off?” Martin shakes his head. Jon dares to let the warmth in his chest spread, up across his shoulders and down his spine and settling soft and sweet in his throat.

“Which one are you?” Martin asks, and there’s no expectation in his expression. Nothing that says he’s hoping for one outcome or another, nothing that betrays a preference. It’s just a question, just a curiosity. Just something he’s asking Jon because he cares. Because he _likes_ him.

Jon answers with minimal stuttering. “The, um. The sex-repulsed one.”

“Cool,” Martin responds. It sounds genuine. The warmth spreading down Jon’s spine shoots straight down to his toes. “Thank you, for telling me. I’m sorry you felt like you had to bring it up so soon.”

 _It’s alright_ , he means to say. _It’s always easier this way, anyway. Spares everyone unnecessary heartache, just in case_. What he says instead is simply “yes.”

Martin startles a bit, caught off guard by the seemingly nonsensical response. “Yes what?”

“Yes, I’d like to get lunch with you,” Jon clarifies. “As a date.”

Martin _blooms_. There’s no other way to say it. He stands there, shoulders still hovering somewhere around his ears, fingers still picking at the stitches in his jumper, and something about him just blossoms. The flush on his cheeks persists, this time accompanied by a nervous, hopeful grin. His eyes go soft, adoring. A laugh falls, unbidden, from his lips.

“Oh,” he says.

 _Oh_ , Jon thinks. He feels a strain in his cheeks that tells him that the look on Martin’s face must be mirrored on his own. Jon can only hope that Martin feels half so warmed by it as he does.

**Author's Note:**

> well! that sure was a lot of emotion in under 4k wasn't it. my bad. see y'all next time, when I'll undoubtedly have yet another self-indulgent 30k+ au where the only plot is that they just want to hold hands so so much! I think this time I'll make y'all care about jocks again <3
> 
> keep up with me on tumblr/twitter at @judesstfrancis and @acetheticallyy, respectively


End file.
